No, I’ll just try to be stable. Stability. Easy to spell. Hard to achieve. Worth shit?

I guess I’m all the way stable, all the way numb, all the way fucking dumb.

I won’t stay this way, I will use guns or arrows or invent new fires I will NOT stay this way I will break things all things I will crush granite to dust so fine that you will take a bath in the remnants of my wreckage, I shall not be consumed by stability. A horrid word. I will smash all of this as long as my brain is there to witness it all go down.

I want my flames to lick my other flames and kiss profanely.

I want to fucking crochet with hypodermic needles.

I want this motherfucking stupid fucking program to stop telling me that “fucking” is spelled wrong because it is not spelled wrong at all. Fuck.

I was never a victim; I chose this, however convoluted though my choice may have been, I chose all of this and now I choose to dismantle what I have chosen for myself without dismantling myself [so I can write].

The only reason I want to keep breathing is to write. The pills weigh on these fingers like blocks of frozen concrete. My insanity is better; at least then I can write.